


Haunted

by greyshirt



Series: Woes of a Seer [1]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cliffhangers, M/M, One Shot, Other, Post-Break Up, Reunions, Selectively Mute Henry Stickmin, Tags May Change, Valiant Hero Ending | VH (Henry Stickmin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29671755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyshirt/pseuds/greyshirt
Summary: While out on a mission, Charles sees a familiar figure out in the snow. But no, it can't be him, right?Spoilers: It's not.
Relationships: Charles Calvin & Henry Stickmin, Charles Calvin & Original Character(s), Charles Calvin/Original Character(s)
Series: Woes of a Seer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180385
Kudos: 3





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was originally gonna write this super long thing for my OC's backstory, but I haven't worked on it in a while and my brain told me to write this in the meantime. His name is Allen Wood and he has a bit of a history with Charles. He's also kind of a prophet? But he doesn't know that. I'll get more into his whole thing eventually.
> 
> Anyway, I was talking about my boi to a friend who said that since he wears a purple scarf and Henry wears a purple scarf in the PD rank for FtC that Charles might mistake the two, so I kinda just took that idea and ran with it? Kinda turned it into a prelude for the backstory I wanna finish.
> 
> I also have an idea for a second chapter for this, but idk if I wanna write it. If I do tho I'll be adding the stickvin tag too, since it'll be more prominent there than in this part. I'll have to add the major character death tag too tho...
> 
> Also I know Henry doesn't wear the scarf anywhere in the VH path but shhhhhh

It was almost like he saw a ghost.

One minute, Charles Calvin was chasing down three members of an infamous criminal organization, the Toppats. He'd been getting sent on more ground missions ever since the clan had gotten their orbital station up and running and  _ oh boy _ was it a hassle. Make no mistake, he was just as capable as any other army soldier, had the same training regimen and everything, it was just difficult to pin the guys down when they'd always get beamed away in a split second. He's lost track of how many times they've gotten away from him now, and trying to come up with new strategies to catch them has majorly affected his sleep schedule. Not to mention the fact that he missed being up in the chopper! Putting it simply, he was  _ very _ frustrated at that moment.

The next minute, after a moment of sulking over  _ another _ failed mission, he saw a familiar figure out in the snow, one he hadn't laid eyes on for a while. Seeing a man about his age with a purple scarf blowing in the wind, he felt himself freeze.

Memories of an old friend came flooding back to him in an instant. First, the day they met in the woods. Then, the day Charles moved to his school and when they had their first sleepover. He remembers when he forced the other to come on a joy-ride in his late grandpa's helicopter, and the day he accidentally made him fall out of a tree. He remembers when they first got together, every date and valentines celebration, and when they went to prom. He remembers their fight, feeling lonely through the rest of senior year, and seeing him one last time before he left.

Shock, guilt, anticipation and fear all hit him at once like a freight train. What in the world is  _ he _ doing all the way out  _ here _ ? The emotions bubble up inside him, but he refuses to let it show. He never panics. He can't  _ afford _ to.

"...Al-" he barely utters, the sound lost to the wind.

Taking a closer look however, he realizes this person wasn't who he thought. The scarf they wore was far too dark to be  _ him _ , and it rested comfortably on their shoulders whereas  _ he _ would try to hide his face away in it. Their hair was also very different, a far cry from the short ponytail that  _ he _ always had.

In the end though, he does still recognize the person before him. Louder and clearer than before, he calls out to them; "Henry?"

In a way, he really  _ had _ seen a ghost.

"Henry!" He greets the other, snow crunching under his feet as he approaches. He holds his arms out to hug him, but thinks better of it when Henry simply holds up one hand in a wave with a small smile on his face. Charles had missed him dearly, but perhaps a hug was too much for him. Lowering his arms, he exclaims, "I heard you  _ died _ !"

Henry smirks and begins to sign. He makes a quick stabbing motion with his right index finger behind his left hand, and rolls his eyes as he turns his palms up and hits the back of his left fingers with his right ones, twice. " _ Can't kill me that easy. _ "

"Well, thank goodness for that," he replies with a chuckle, before his expression turns more concerned. "What even  _ happened _ ? Last I heard from you was, I dunno, over a week ago or so. What're you doin' all the way out  _ here _ ?"

" _ Captured, _ " he signs, making Charles' eyes widen. Henry then pokes his neck with two fingers with his right hand, brings it down to circle his fingers in his left, then holds both palms up towards Charles and moves his hands apart.

Charles squints at his silent friend for a moment, a brow quirked upward. "Wait, you were stuck in a wall?" he asks.

Henry closes his eyes and lets out a huff, opting to finger-spell instead. Charles pays close attention as he forms the letters. " _ T-H-E-W-A- _ "

"OH,  _ The _ Wall!" he interrupts and Henry quickly nods, his lips pressed into a line. "Wait, why were you taken by  _ The Wall _ ?" Charles inquires. The other only shrugs at him in return, but he keeps on going. "You were pardoned for all your crimes after dealing with the Toppats. There's no reason for them to lock you up...unless," he aims a slight glare back to Henry, "you did something  _ else _ that we don't know about?" Henry just shrugs again, shaking his arms a bit for more emphasis.

He's not entirely sure if he believes that, but Charles decides to drop it anyway. He  _ just _ found his friend again after thinking he was dead. It'd be kinda rude to start interrogating him immediately after all that. "Well anyway, I'm really glad you're okay, Henry."

Shock passes over his expression for just a moment. Soon after Henry gives a small, shy smile to him, a pink color rising to his cheeks. Charles assumes it from the cold of course, judging from how he adjusts his scarf as well. He tugs the fabric up closer to his face, almost like how  _ he _ used to.

A sudden chill runs up his spine and makes him shiver. Crossing his arms and rubbing his jacket, Charles offers, "H-hey, we should probably get out of this snow storm." His head gestures to the pub behind Henry, just barely visible through the blizzard, "Wanna head inside?"

Henry nods once and starts to turn around, but not before beckoning for Charles to follow. At that he lets out a small cheer, earning a huff of a laugh from Henry followed by another eye-roll.

'It's stupid,' he thinks to himself as he picks up the pace, 'that I even thought it was  _ him _ .' It'd been so long since the two went their separate ways. He'd even told Charles that he wouldn't come see him, that he wouldn't wait for him. Why on  _ earth _ would he show up in the middle of nowhere after all this time?

It was just an illusion, a trick of the eye. Charles knew that, yet he still managed—for just a moment—to convince himself otherwise. Was he really still clinging to someone who wanted nothing to do with him anymore? How pathetic.

Reaching the door to the pub he looks back to see Henry trailing a few feet behind, only just realizing he passed by him while lost in thought. Since he's already there he opens the door for the ex-convict, beckoning him in with a playful "After you!" Henry snorts and nudges him with an elbow as he walks inside, Charles' eyes following him all the while.

It's not like he wasn't happy with the turn of events. He'd gotten pretty close with Henry after they stole those files from the Toppats, and he'd been devastated upon learning about his supposed death. He was actually more upset about  _ that _ than the passing of some of his fellow soldiers.  Honestly, he's not entirely sure how he feels about that fact. He's so happy to find out he's okay!

He missed Henry so much! But he also missed the person in the illusion too.

Charles shakes the thought from his head. He can blame what he saw on the snow. He finally walks in and away from the door, letting it shut behind him.

He has more important stuff to deal with anyway.

* * *

_ Click click, clack. Click, clack. Click click click. _

Nimble fingers dance across the keyboard. The man hunched over his desk and let the bright light of his laptop sear his eyes. He doesn't write on his computer much anymore, most of his ideas scrapped before he could even  _ consider _ putting them on the screen. However, this one just wouldn't leave him alone. He stops typing for a moment, reading over what he'd just added.

" _ The sun felt  _ immense  _ guilt over the incident. He had seen the comet as it grew. He had watched it fly without a care and become stronger every rotation. If he had reached out to it, or found a way to make it slow down and orbit like everyone else. But he never did. Now all that remains of it is a crater and some dust on the earth. What was once full of light and energy has been snuffed out in mere seconds, and the sun cries. _ "

The man lets out a sigh and holds his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyelids. He doesn't even know where he's  _ going _ with this anymore.

A few weeks ago, he had a dream. In it a shooting star had crashed onto the earth and disappeared, and the whole Milkyway Galaxy mourned the loss. He'd thought it was interesting, so he started to write about it.

For him though, it wasn't enough. He believed that in order for a story to be good, it must have a meaning. There must be something that the story tells the reader, or there's no point in reading it. The problem is he can't seem to find any meaning in this story, but he just can't let it go. It clings to his brain like a leech, sucking away at his thoughts until  _ it's _ the only thing he can think about.

He looks back to the screen and down at the time. It's getting late, and he still needs to make dinner. His eyes dart back up to his project, glaring at the offending words. "I should really just scrap this," he tells himself.

He closes the document, but not before saving his work.

He lets out another sigh before closing the laptop and leaning against his chair. His neck lays uncomfortably on the back so his head faces up to the ceiling, his eyes shut tight all the while. He stays there for a moment before the buzz of his phone on top of the wooden desk makes him jolt. Picking it up, he sees a message from someone labeled "Jaydon Dunbar (Work)".

**sick. cant come in tmrw. sry**

A groan rises from his throat when he reads the text. He quickly taps in his pin number— _ 2427537 _ —and shoots a message back, while also trying to find someone else to cover the morning shift at the bookstore. Knowing his luck, he'll probably have to do it himself.

There's a moment of pause as he waits for a response. Against his better judgment, he scrolls down to one of his older conversations and skims through some of the messages. He knows he shouldn't be doing this. He  _ knows _ that looking back and dwelling on the past will only make him feel worse, but he just can't help himself.

Ignoring the new messages from his coworkers, he eventually gets back to the last messages from  _ him _ that were sent about a decade ago. The second to last reads " **Can't wait!!!** " with a sparkling heart emoji. The last one—sent a few  _ months _ afterward—has his final goodbye.

Every time he looks at it he feels the urge to reach out again: to text, to call, to send a letter,  _ anything _ .  _ Every time _ he looks at it, he never does. It was his own fault that he couldn't handle the other leaving, and that he pushed  _ him _ away to try and protect himself.

He misses the other dearly...but he just  _ can't _ .

A loud beeping resounds through the house, bringing him out of his introspection. He quickly stands and pockets his phone as a high-pitched voice calls out to him, "ALLEN, CAN YOU TURN THAT OFF?"

He opens the door to see the hallway barely covered in a gray, dusty air. It's only a little smoke, not enough to come from an  _ actual _ fire. However it's still enough to set the smoke detector off, and to make his eyes water. He steps out of the bedroom and lets out a cough before reaching the machine. Lucky for him, he's just tall enough to reach the button to turn it off without needing a stool. Maybe he needs to stand on his tiptoes, but you do what you gotta do.

When the beeping stops, he waves his hand under the machine to try and clear some of the smoke. "Hailey!" he calls back to his sister, walking back to the room and grabbing the doorknob, "I thought I told you  _ I _ was gonna make dinner tonight!"

He tugs on the door a bit before walking back down the hall. The door shuts the rest of the way on it's own, and a light purple scarf that hangs on the other knob sways as it clicks back into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know most people don't care so much for stories surrounding OC's so I really appreciate that you took the time to read. I know it has kind of an unsatisfying ending, but sometimes it's just like that, y'know lol.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
